


My Favorite Kind

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [152]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Fantasizing, First Time, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 20:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16103117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The look on Banner’s face is priceless. “How do you accidentally get married? Don’t you at least have to sayI do?”





	My Favorite Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Accidental Marriage. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

The look on Banner’s face is priceless. “How do you accidentally get married? Don’t you at least have to say _I do_?”

“Tsk,” Tony says, flippant, trying his best to ignore the serious aura of embarrassment he’s gotta be casting,  “how very Earth-er of you to assume everybody does things the same way.”

Bruce’s eyes pinball from Tony to Cap and back. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Cap says, “that if some of us had been paying attention and not leapt directly into the middle of a situation without considering the possible consequences--”

“Oh, come on! You can’t tell me you had ‘we’ll accidentally get married’ anywhere on your might-happen radar, Rogers.”

Cap spreads his hands in Bruce’s direction as if to say _see_? “--then we wouldn’t be in this goddamn bullshit hornets’ nest of a problem, would we, Tony?”

Ok, that stings. “I can think of a lot worse things that could’ve happened than us ending up married.”

“Yeah?” Cap says with a sour smile, reaching for his chin strap. "Name one.”

Which Tony can’t but only because Cap turns on his heel and marches straight out of the hanger like he’s got a Howitzer on his heels.

A beat. “So I guess you guys aren’t hitting Niagara, huh?” Banner asks.

“Nah,” Tony says, a little deflated, if he’s honest. “Looks like I’m sleeping on the metaphorical couch tonight. Maybe tonight and for the rest of my life.”

 

*****

Steve won’t look at him for a week.

Which is inconvenient, rude, and also seriously disappointing because one of Tony’s great joys in life--up and until the Great Whoops Nuptials Fiasco--was having the chance to stare at Steve’s beautiful face. For all that the man brings out the pugilist in Tony, the stubborn desire to be right, he is also without question one of the hottest people Tony’s ever met; it’s a goddamn paradox, some days. Some days, before Tony Screwed Up (™), it was struggle to get through a briefing or an after-action review or a ridiculously competitive game of Scrabble without getting distracted by the set of Cap’s mouth, the way it curved when he had a point to make or a solid Triple Word Score set to play. There were days when he had to leave a team dinner early because he was so distracted by the sight of Steve laughing, by the soft tilt of his shoulders when Nat leaned over and whispered something especially snarky in his ear, by the way his face fell so open when he was happy, a burst of sun like somebody’d snuck in and snapped up the blinds. And he was so gorgeous like that, so goddamn delicious, that Tony would have to find some bullshit reason to get out of the room lest he try to climb the man like a tree and lick that smile, that stupid dazzling smile, right off of Steve’s mouth.

It felt vaguely dirty, jerking off to the thought of that grin, to the way it would look crowning between Tony’s legs or around the swell of his cock--but truth be told, that made it even better. _God_ , Tony’d thought once, rounding the bases for home, _Steve’d be so disappointed in me_ , and the thought of that disapproving stare had him spurting into the air so hard that he could not fucking breathe.

...so he may have come back to that idea more than once: Steve watching with that rock-jaw scowl, arms crossed and khakis tented--always those damn granddad khakis--saying, _Really, Tony? I thought you knew better than this_.

Me, too, Tony would think, fist pumping fast on his shaft. Oh, fuck, Cap. Me, too.

Because if there's one member of their motley crew Tony can't see going for him in one phase, shape, multiverse or another, it's Steven Grant Rogers. They're just too different and yet too much alike, like twin gears too closely ground, and even though Tony knows Steve well enough now to understand that Howard's tales of Mr. Straight Laced and Tidy were just myths, there's still so much of him that seems untouchable to Tony, more grounded, more serious, than Tony's ever known how to be.

And being alien-married to the guy does not help. It does not help at all.

Mainly because they _aren’t_ married, not really; not according to any law down here on Earth. Yes, there is the small, completely technical matter of the rings they can’t take off--as in, are actually physically unable to; long story--but other than that, there’s nothing holding them to each other. No reason that anybody outside of the team has to know exactly how an attempt to help Thor do a solid on the other side of galaxy had been a success because a) no one told Tony not to touch the big shiny goblet the frankly dazzling L’aln princess held out to them and b) he wouldn’t have touched said shiny and then touched Cap if he’d known what the results of said chain of touching would be.

“Well,” Thor had said, after, as the warring armies put down their weapons and started planning a wedding party, “it could be worse. You could’ve touched Loki.”

Maybe worse in the moment, worse for a while, but Loki at least would’ve gotten bored with being ‘married’ and moved the fuck on.

Steve, though? Steve was clinging to it. And with a serious grudge.

“Like, was he planning a big church wedding? Has he had it sketched out in his head since he was a kid?”

“No,” Nat says from her perch on the workbench behind him. “That’s not it.”

Tony sets down his laser torch and rubs at his eyes, luckily in that order. “So what the hell is it, then?”

“Why aren’t you talking to him about this?”

“Nat.”

“What?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our fair captain won’t even look me in the face.”

“Pah,” Nat says, swinging her legs like a kid on a swing, “it’s only been a few days.”

“It’s been a fucking week.”

“So?” She tilts her head. “It’s a big deal to him, Tony, the idea of marriage. It’s not just an idle concept to him.”

Tony frowns. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning, even though to you it’s a joke, there’s some part of him that’s taking it seriously.”

“It’s not a joke to me. It’s a goddamn thorn in my side.”

That gets her gaze narrowed. Like she’s staring at him through a scope. “And why is that, exactly?”

Tony’s cheeks go hot. “Um, for the good of the team, we have to--”

“Bullshit. Try again.”

“Come on, Nat, the Avengers only work when we--”

“Stark,” she says, sarcastic steel, “don’t make me come down there.”

Damn it. He looks away for a second, sucks in a quick, self-deprecating breath. “Because part of me kinda likes the idea, ok?”

There’s a swift silence. And then:

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Nat says, rolling her eyes from here to eternity. “I swear. You two.”

“What?"

She hops down like a cat and pats him on the back. “Congratulations,” she deadpans. “You deserve each other.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The pat turns into a smack. “Tch. It means talk to your husband, _придурок._ Unless you like being miserable, in which case, please, by all means, keeping moping around in here with your machines in the dark.”

“Nat--”

“Talk to him, Tony. That’s not a suggestion. It’s a goddamn gold-plated plea.” Her expression softens a little. “Because Steve’s not going to make the first move on this one. I don’t think that he can.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Talk to him,” she says again, turning on her heel and heading towards the door. “And you’ll see.”

 

*****

By the time that Tony gets his courage up and two stiff drinks down, it’s after midnight.

He should wait until the morning, probably. He should wait until the sun is out and the streets out there are humming and he can belly up to the bar while Cap’s eating his breakfast and bring this up breezy like a goddamn adult: _This is broken. Let’s fix it. It’ll be fine_.

But he can’t sleep on this crap again, can’t wake up and see that damn ring first thing and start the day off with another _oh fucking shit_ . So protocol be damned; screw Roberts’ Rules of Order--he’s going to see Cap right the fuck now. And if he wakes the man up, rouses him out of bed and makes him answer the door in some thin, low-slung boxers that the light goes straight through-- _unf_ \--then so be it. This shit is getting settled tonight.

Except Steve doesn’t come to the door in his jammies or semi-naked. When it opens, he’s wearing no shirt, no shoes, and those stupid khakis.

“Um,” Tony says, staring, not staring, “hi.”

Steve blinks. “Hi, Tony.”

“Can I, uh. Can I come in for a second? I know that it’s late.”

Much to Tony’s surprise, Steve moves aside and gives him a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, sure. Come on in.”

It’s only when he’s carried himself over the threshold (ha) that Tony realizes he’s never actually been in here, in Steve’s room, at least not since Cap moved in. He walked every inch of the place while it was under construction, of course, and then again as modifications were made, but he’s never seen what Steve did with the place. There’s an easel in one corner, by the windows. A spread of armchairs and a small sofa with a clean, modern air. A big, soft-looking bed with dark sheets and a panoply of pillows that Tony is not looking at, nope, not gonna be looking, thanks.

“This is,” he says, “this is nice.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, “what is it they say? This place had good bones. So a lot of it’s thanks to you.”

“Uh huh. Ah--thanks.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

“No! No, I mean. This’ll just take a sec.”

He can see a frown flit between Steve’s eyebrows. “Ok.”

“I wanted to talk to you about, you know.” Tony holds up his right hand and pokes the ring with his left. “This.”

“Ah,” Steve says.  “Um. Yes. We probably should talk about that.”

“Yeah, we--”

Cap cuts him off. “Look, I owe you an apology.”

That brings Tony up short. “For what?”

“For treating you like a pariah. For not talking to you. For acting like, quote unquote, a fucking martyr.”

“Who told you that?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. “Today? Or do you want the full list?”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, because it’s true, because it’s what he should’ve said right away. “You were right; I blundered into things without thinking. I should’ve waited for Thor to make the first move--at least he speaks their language. I was just acting on instinct.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing, like you always do. I get that.”

Tony squints at him. “You do?”

Cap looks taken aback, his wide eyes making him looking impossibly young. “Yeah. I always know your heart’s in the right place, Tony, even if we don’t agree about how to get there. I never ever question that.”

"Oh," Tony says, because seriously? "Huh. Well.”

“And honestly, no harm was done, right? In fact, a lot of good came from it. You stopped the fighting, didn't you, all in one stroke.” Steve smiles, an honest-to-god grin that makes Tony’s heart turn right the fuck over. “Who knew that marriage was more important to them those folks than war?”

“Gotta say, I like their priorities.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “me, too.”

They’re looking at each other, full-on eye contact for the first time in days, and Tony feels that tiny, insistent pull that is desire, that is stupid, unrequited, _you’re gonna get your heart stomped_ _on_ want.

“Ok,” Tony says, “so. Glad we got that cleared up. I’m, ah. I’m gonna go.”

“You know,” Steve says, his voice halting Tony at the door, “there’s one thing I wish we’d done differently. Did I mention that?”

“No.”

“I know everybody’s traditions aren’t the same,” Steve says, “but where I come from, when you get married, you seal it with a kiss.”

“Oh, well,” Tony says with a half-laugh, with his hand on the door, “I guess it’s lucky we didn’t do that, huh? Or else you’d really be stuck with me.”

Two steps, a split second, and Steve is right there, jammed up in Tony’s personal space with his bare skin and his dad pants and his seriously lit-up blue eyes. “You promise?” Steve says.

Jesus. Tony's knees turn to hot water. “Why? You offering?”

Steve--beautiful, exasperating, stars and stripes Steve--lifts his hands and cups Tony’s face. “One-time only, Stark. Take it or leave it.”

Tony makes a low, hot sound and tips up towards Steve’s mouth. “Oh, I’ll take it. You better believe it. I do.”

  
*****

  
"Nat said you wouldn't make the first move," Tony says later, in the depths of Steve's bed.

Steve snuffles and plants a kiss low on Tony's neck. "Did she?"

"Mmmm. Yeah. Oh, god, keep doing that."

"I mean, Nat is rarely wrong about these things." A suck, a brush of a bite. "Almost never."

Tony gets a hand in Steve's gloriously fucked-up hair and arches his back, aims to expose more of his throat to that talented tongue. "Well," he manages, "first time for everything."

"Eh," Steve says. He shifts, presses Tony flat out on his back. "Technically, though, you came to me."

"Did I?"

"Uh huh. And in the middle of the night, too, when you knew we'd be alone. Tsk tsk. Shame on you."

That tease, that scolding tone, shit, it makes Tony want to fucking purr. "Are you saying I came here to seduce you, husband of mine?"

Steve grins and crawls over him, smothers Tony's body in muscle and sweet, sticky heat. "I don't know. Did you?"

"Not intentionally."

"Well," Steve hums, nudging the words against Tony's cheek, his knee between Tony's thighs, "it was a happy accident, then."

"Yep," Tony says, turning his face for a kiss. "My favorite kind."


End file.
